The Canary that couldn't escape - Chapter 864 - 865 You Will Have Your Own Happiness 3

Traveling to the Uchiha clan in the world of Naruto, Yuta activated the god-level talent analysis system!Every time his strength increases by one level, a new talent can be analyzed.Since then, the strongest genius in the history of Konoha was born!And this was just the beginning.Analyze Might Guy's Physique talent, Kakashi's Lightning Release talent, Shisui's Genjutsu talent...On the night of the extermination, Yuta used Susanoo, Eight Inner Gates, and controlled Kirin in the sky.“Sarutobi Huruzen, Danzo, how do you want to die?”Note: This is just a translation. All the credit goes to the original creators.Raw: 木叶：天赋暴击，开局因陀罗血脉

Xion Aijawa thought his life was finally coming together. That is, until he tried saving a cat stuck in a tree, fell into a pit, and... diedIn his disoriented sate of “Freshly dead” the silly Xion accepted a strange request and ended up transmigrating into the world full of dungeons and Mana.He became illegitimate child of Marquis family hated by his three siblings.According to the memory of the original owner of the body, Xion only had a month to live.So, taking the cover of the banquet, Xion ran away. Aided by a mysterious Mall System, he makes his way to the distant borderlands, hoping to put his past behind him.But fate has other plans-. Xion ends up saving Darius Rael Darkhelm, the feared Archduke of the North, notorious for his ruthless and deranged nature.The silly Xion tried to run away but...Xion's heart thumped loudly as Darius effortlessly pinned his wrists using only one hand.“I've heard you tried to run away.”Darius gently caressed Xion's pale cheek, “That must be a lie... After all, I've given you things even the royal family can't have. Isn't that right, my dear healer?”Xion gulped when Darius's thumb brushed his lower lip as a chilling smirk remained on his handsome face.“I-I think I should leave, Your Grace. I've overstayed my welcome...”The room grew cold, and struggling Xion shivered.Darius's green eyes dimmed before lighting up with a dangerous glint.Xion felt a pit growing in his stomach when he saw the deranged archduke smile. Darius never smiled. And whenever he did, it only meant trouble.“You're right,” Darius said calmly. “So, let's get married.”Xion “...!!!!”

[40,000 Words Before Lock-In] [R-18] [No NTR] [Smut] [Legal Teens] [Single MILFs] [Feisty GILFs] [Dangerously Funny]Renowned worldwide as Everyman, Joji Sins dominated the adult industry for decades, winning Best Adult Actor four years straight from 2010 to 2028, and building a strange kind of public love through quiet philanthropy despite his dirty reputation.Thirty years later, Joji is seventy seven, nearly completely deaf, and no longer in front of the camera. He did not get washed away. He retired into power instead, directing the scenes himself and still going strong.On the side, he even earned a proper medical license and became a real doctor.Then one ordinary day turns cruel. A broken light bulb. A ladder slip. A back that almost snapped wrong.The hospital discharges him three days later like he is already finished.His stomach grumbled after being in such a gloomy environment. A hotdog for a dollar across the road. Not too bad of a deal.After almost getting hit by a rearing armored truck, he got his change from a fan.Fucking finally you thought? Wrong.A runaway truck hurtles toward him.Joji breathes in relief. He is alive, just scraped up, glass shards biting into his wrinkled skin.Then something sprays his face. The stink is sharp, hard alcohol. His eyes track the source. Unleaded gasoline is gushing nearby.“Mother fu...”...Joji gasps and wakes. An unfamiliar bed. Gaudy ceiling ornaments. Steel clashing outside. A splitting headache.Memories that are not his punching through his skull. As he reaches for reality, a cold presence snaps into place before his eyes.{Welcome, good Sir Joji of Sins.}

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.